Stand Back Up, Before You Fall Again
by FallenAngel218
Summary: Drunken Dean tries to take his own life, and Bobby reminds him why he can't.
1. Chapter 1

"We're closin' son," the bartender said as he wiped off the bar with a dirty white rag. The young man at the end of the bar was sitting dejectedly, tracing the lip of his glass with his index finger. "I'm callin' you a taxi," he said, reaching for the phone.

"No," Dean Winchester said, his voice hoarse from drinking whiskey for six hours. "I'll walk." He slipped off the barstool and staggered toward the front door, almost falling over a couple of times. He reached into his jacket pocket for the keys to his car, and stumbled over to the trunk. He rummaged through it, and finally pulled out his favorite gun, a shiny silver .45. He made sure there was a fresh clip in it, and slammed the trunk shut. He staggered around to the front seat and took a note from his pocket. He had written it weeks ago, not knowing if he'd have the nerve to act on it, but he knew it was time. As he leaned into the driver's side to set it on the seat, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and a familiar voice graced his ears.

"Dean," Bobby said softly, trying to get the younger hunter's attention without freaking him out. Dean returned to a standing position at the sound of Bobby's voice.

"Leave me alone, Bobby. I need to do this."

"No, you don't."

Dean twirled around and pointed his .45 at Bobby.

"Let me do this. I don't want to take you with me."

"Dean, I'm not gonna let you walk into the woods and shoot yourself!" Dean took a drunken step forward, and in one move Bobby disarmed him and took the clip out of the .45. "I won't let you leave Sam alone."

"Give me back my gun, damn it!"

"How do you think Sam is going to take it when he finds out that his older brother, the one who is supposed to be protecting him, goes out into the woods in some small town and blows his brains out?"

Dean remained silent for a moment. It would probably wreck Sam for life if Dean did what he was about to do, but the weight their father had put on Dean's shoulders that day at the hospital was too much for him to bear. He couldn't bear to see his brother turn into whatever that yellow-eyed sonovabitch made him into, and he couldn't kill his brother. This was the only option for Dean. It was either him or Sam.

"Just give me the gun, and let me do this, Bobby. I can't do it anymore. Dad laid a burden on my shoulders before he died, and I can't take it anymore. How could he do that to me? Every waking moment since Dad died has had me thinkin' about what my brother is going to become because of that demon. I can't do this anymore, Bobby. I'm tired."

Bobby looked down at the .45 and clip in his hand. There was absolutely no way he was giving it back to Dean, but the younger man had a valid point. John's admission to Dean before his death had put a great weight on Dean's shoulders, something that was going to be hard for him to live with, but Bobby knew he couldn't let Dean blow his head off and leave Sam alone to deal with the demon. It was a death trap.

"Dean, if I give you this gun and let you walk into the woods and blow your head off, you're condemning Sam to death too. You're not protecting him from anything by doing this. If you die, he's going to push me and everyone else away, and go after this thing himself, and he's gonna get himself killed!"

"He's not stupid, Bobby! He'll kill that sonovabitch, and then he can go back to school, and forget about all of this. You'll see!" Dean lunged at the older man in an attempt to get his gun back, but Bobby managed to get a hold of Dean's wrists, and pinned him to the side of the Impala.

"Listen to me! Your brother needs you, and I'm not gonna let you end your life, and his, because you're too scared to face what Sam _might _become. You're gonna get in my car with me, and I'm taking you back to your brother, and you're gonna deal with this, just like we always do."

Bobby let him go, and when Dean turned to face him, he could see tears streaming down the younger hunter's face.

"I don't wanna die, Bobby, I don't. I'm just tired of all this," he said, starting to sob. He fell to the ground in a heap, and Bobby dropped to his knees at Dean's side. Dean buried his face into Bobby's shoulder and started to sob uncontrollably. "Don't let me do it," he said in between sobs. "I'm sorry."

"I'm here, Dean."

As Dean cried into his shoulder, Bobby wondered if the sobbing was a result of all the whiskey and other assorted alcohol that Dean had been drinking, or if it was really genuine. As the thought swirled through his head, a noise prompted him to look up. Someone had come out of the bar and was making his way toward them.

"Excuse me," the elderly gentleman said to Bobby, who was trying to get Dean to his feet. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, my son here just had a little too much to drink, an' I'm tryin' to get him over to my car. I'll have his brother come pick up his car shortly."

"No problem. Just checkin.' Yer son's been here for at least five or six hours. I was gettin' worried about him for a while."

As the man walked off, Bobby managed to get Dean to his feet.

"Come on, let's get outta here before we draw a crowd. You and Sam have a lot to talk about, _after _you sober up."

Bobby got Dean into the passenger seat of his truck, and flipped open his phone to call Sam.

"I found your brother. You need to come get the Impala."

"He got that drunk? In the middle of a job?"

"Speak for yourself," Bobby said, referencing a time when Sam had done the exact same thing, and had suffered for it the next morning.  
"Fine. Just tell me where it is."

"It's at a little bar on Henderson. How fast can you get here?"

"I'll call a taxi. It shouldn't take long at this time of night."

"Fine. Just get it out of here before some kid gets curious and breaks into the trunk or something."

"I'm leaving now."

"Okay bye." Bobby started the truck and pulled out of the bar, heading back to Sam and Dean's motel room. He couldn't wait for Dean to sober up so they could have a real discussion.


	2. Chapter 2

_I am going to finish this story here, but if there is anyone who thinks I should continue, please let me know via review and I will definitely think about continuing it.  
__**Spoiler Alert: Season 2 is fair game **_

Bobby arrived at Sam and Dean's motel room the next morning just in time to see Dean rush into the bathroom. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to Sam.

"Want to go pick up some coffee and doughnuts?" Bobby asked, handing Sam a twenty-dollar bill. "My treat."

"Sure thing," Sam said, taking the money. He grabbed the keys to the Impala and left. Bobby sat down at the table and opened one of the books Sam had left there. The boys were working on a case, and Bobby decided he'd help them out while he was here dealing with Dean. He flipped the pages that chronicled demonology and focused on the lore surrounding the peculiar case. He stopped when he saw something highlighted in yellow in the middle of the book. The boys thought they were dealing with a Rakhasa.

"Heya Bobby," Dean said as he came out of the bathroom, breaking Bobby's trance. "What are you doin' here?"

"I came to make sure you were all right before I leave. I was in the middle of a hunt when your brother called me yesterday."

Dean went over to his duffel and took a bottle of ibuprofen from the side zipper. He threw three of them into his mouth and dropped the bottle back into his bag.

"Why'd he do that? We can handle our own hunts."

Bobby slammed the book shut and stood up as Dean rifled through his duffel for something else.

"Don't play games with me, boy. You know exactly what the hell I'm talking about." Bobby could tell his words had stung Dean a little bit when the young hunter's eyes fell back down to the duffel he was searching through. Finally Dean held up what he had been looking for: a shiny silver .45. With it he took out his cleaning kit and brought it over to the bed, and started to clean the weapon.

"Where's Sam?" Dean finally asked when he realized his brother wasn't around.

"Went to get coffee," Bobby said, reopening the book he was reading.

"Good, he'd better hurry back." Dean continued to clean his gun as Bobby silently flipped back to the page he'd left off on.

"So you think you've got a Rakhasa?" he asked.

"Yeah, Sam called Ellen and she told him where to look. Bastard won't live past today." Dean smiled and set down the .45, now immaculately clean. He set to work on the shotgun leaning on the nightstand next to his bed.

"You think you can handle it alone? Last time you boys hunted one of these things you almost got yourself killed."

"That one disguised himself as a knife-thrower, and the fact that he was invisible and chucking those things at us made it even harder."

"Point taken." Bobby went back to reading up on the Rakhasa, but couldn't stop thinking about the previous night's episode with Dean. He had to talk to him about it before Sam came back. The coffee run was supposed to keep Sam busy so Bobby could talk to Dean alone. Finally, he closed the book and looked over at the younger hunter, who was diligently cleaning a second shotgun.

"Last night you told me your father laid something on you the day he died. Something about your brother."

Dean looked up at Bobby as the words slipped from the older hunter's lips.

"That was the whiskey sour talking."

"I don't think it was. Tell me what's goin' on, Dean."

Dean set down the shotgun.

"My Dad told me I had to look after Sam. He said the demon has plans for Sam, and other children like him, and that I need to protect Sam from that sonovabitch."

Bobby sat there for a second, taking in Dean's words.

"Tell me something. Is walking into the woods in this craphole town and blowing your head off supposed to protect Sam? I'd bet that if you did that, he'd probably be wrecked for life, and that demon would probably kill him."

Dean gave it some thought. Bobby was absolutely right. Maybe it was the alcohol talking last night, or maybe it was him, but killing himself would, in turn, kill Sam too, and he couldn't kill his brother's soul. Not ever.

"Point taken. Now can we kill this sonovabitch please?"

Bobby nodded. "Can I trust you with a gun?"

"Does America trust Fort Knox?"

"Funny."

Sam returned with coffee and doughnuts, and the guys set to work on tracking down the Rakhasa. Bobby smiled to himself as John's boys drank coffee and worked on the case together. He knew they'd be fine, and after this hunt, Bobby would leave and finish the case he was in the middle of before Sam pulled him away. John's boys had always considered Bobby a lifeline in times of distress, and he hoped they'd continue to trust him when they needed an ally, especially for what was to come.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have decided to continue with this story…and what was originally intended to only be a few chapters long, is probably going to end up being a full-length piece. I hope you enjoy the latest developments! _

_A/N: I added the anecdote about the song "psycho killer" by the Talking Heads, due to a joke my best friend and I have about whether they should use the song in an episode of Supernatural. So Jeni, this is for you!_

--

Dean fidgeted in the passenger seat of the Impala. He had been sitting there for hours, bored out of his skull. Sam and Bobby had gone off to do a salt and burn, leaving Dean alone. He desperately wanted to be out there with them, but Bobby insisted he'd be better off waiting in the car. He'd been telling Dean that for the past three months, since he tried to shoot himself.

Over and over, Dean insisted he was better. He'd been telling Bobby for a while now that he was ready to get back in it, that they could trust him with a gun in his hand without trying to turn it on himself. Bobby didn't seem to hear Dean. He had a one-track mind about the situation. Dean's head wasn't on straight. How could he be trusted to blast an angry spirit with rock salt, or even carry his own .45 in his coat?

To calm his nerves, Dean tried turning on the radio. The slow vibes of "Psycho Killer" filled his ears. As the song played, he started twirling around a buck knife his Dad had given him for Dean's 18th birthday. John told him it was a family heirloom, that it belonged to Dean's grandfather. Dean never knew his grandfather, so he just took his father's word for it at the time. He ran his fingers over the carved initials, _SW. _Samuel Winchester. He remembered the stories John used to tell him about how he and Sam were named, Sam after their grandfather, and Dean just because Mary liked Dean Martin.

As his fingers roamed the blade of the knife, which Dean sharpened three times a week, Dean's thoughts took a new turn. He wondered how it would feel if he sliced into his wrist right then. Would it hurt? Would he die quickly or slowly? He thought of Bobby and Sam.

_They have each other now. What do they need me for? I'm useless to them with a gun. Sam doesn't need me. He can survive without me around. He and Bobby have proven that. _

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he put the tip of the knife just under his wrist. He was going to finish what he started three months ago, and Bobby wasn't here to stop him.

--

"How long have you been burning corpses, Sam?" Bobby asked as he and Sam trudged out of the woods.  
"Come on, Bobby. You know the answer to that."  
"Then tell me why it took us so damn long to find the grave, dig the hole, and burn the body? I can do that in a half-hour alone! We've been out here for three hours, Sam."  
"I'm sorry, OK? I guess I wasn't very prepared for this one. It won't happen again." Sam opened the trunk of the Impala and threw the shovel and supplies inside. "Let's just find a motel. I'm ready to collapse." He walked around to the driver's side and opened the door. As he sat down, he realized that his brother wasn't moving. His eyes roamed down to Dean's hand. A bloody knife was hanging out of his right hand, and there was blood everywhere.  
"Bobby!" Sam jumped out of the car and started running toward Bobby's car. The older hunter got out as Sam ran up, tears streaming down his face.  
"What's the matter?"  
"Dean—he—blood—"  
"Sam, calm down and tell me what the hell is wrong."  
"Dean. He—we need to get him to a hospital. He cut his wrists, Bobby."  
Bobby stood there for a moment, speechless. _Is this really happening right now? _Finally , he got up the courage to say something.  
"Okay, where's the nearest town?"  
"Ten miles away. They have a hospital there."  
"Okay let's go. Don't stop for anything, not even gas, okay?"  
"Yeah, got it."  
Sam got back into the car and pealed out toward the highway, with Bobby practically tailgating him.

--

Sam screeched to a stop in front of the ER entrance of the hospital. It was enough noise to attract the attention of two EMTs on a smoke break. They immediately went to help, and within minutes Dean was being wheeled into the hospital.  
"Is he going to be all right?" Sam asked the doctor as he ran beside the gurney.  
"He's still alive, but we can't tell just yet. He's lost a lot of blood." Dean was wheeled into a trauma room. "You'll have to wait out here, son. I'll let you know as soon as we stabilize him, okay?"  
Sam nodded and turned around. Bobby was standing several feet behind him, with a blank stare on his face.  
"He's still alive," Sam muttered, taking a few steps closer to Bobby. The older hunter nodded. Dean was alive. That was all that mattered.  
"Sam, can you get me a cup of coffee?" he asked slowly, giving him a few dollars. "Get one for yourself too, son." Sam nodded and walked off toward the vending machines.  
Bobby went up to the trauma doors and looked in at Dean. They were trying their hardest to stabilize him. _He wouldn't even be in here if it weren't for me. _  
Slowly, he turned away and walked toward the waiting area. It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: From this point on, I am going to tread lightly into the territory of depression. It is a very hard subject for me to write about. Someone close to me committed suicide, and I know how it feels to wonder if you could have done anything to help him, what he was thinking about, and could anyone have stopped him. I hope to explore all of those questions through Bobby in this chapter and throughout the story. He and Sam are going to fight very different battles with themselves over Dean's condition. _

"Any change?"  
"Nothing," Bobby said as Sam handed him a cup of coffee. "The doctor said he's lucky to be alive."  
Bobby looked down at Dean's bandaged wrists. He hadn't been the one to find Dean, and he couldn't imagine Sam's shock at finding his brother in that condition. Somewhere inside him, he could feel a pang of guilt growing stronger, every time he replayed the past three months in his head. He had isolated Dean, become obsessed with making sure he didn't try to kill himself again. He had become an overprotective bastard, and in the end he found himself sitting by Dean's bedside in a small-town hospital, wondering why he didn't help Dean the way he was meant to be helped. The right way.

"Sam, You go on back to the motel room, son. I'm gonna stay here for a while."  
"Bobby, you haven't slept in days. You go, I'll stay."

"Just go, damn it!"  
Sam was taken aback by his older friend's outburst. The three of them had been through a lot together, but never anything like this. His brother was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, wrists bandaged where he tried to slit them, and Bobby was slouched in a chair next to him, obviously wrecked over the whole thing, maybe even more than Sam was.

"Okay. I'll go. Call me if you—"

"Yeah, right. I will."  
Sam nodded and quietly left the room.  
Bobby sat up a little straighter in his chair when Sam left. The monitor to his left beeped slowly, telling him that Dean was still alive, though obviously all of the young man was not. Bobby wished he could reach into Dean's mind, and find out what was bothering John's oldest boy so much. He wished he was there when Dean made the decision to cut himself, so he could stop him, like that night at the bar. He felt like a damn fool for not protecting Dean from this. How could he not protect him?

"Dammit, Dean," He put his hand on top of Dean's. In his mind, he had to confirm that all of this was really happening, that he wasn't dreaming.  
"Why couldn't you just talk to me, boy?" Tears started flowing down his cheeks. "I took all of this the wrong way, son. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." He squeezed Dean's hand in his. "Please don't die on me. Please."

--

"Bobby?"  
The older man stirred and sat up in his chair when he heard Dean's hoarse voice calling his name.  
"Dean," he said quietly. "It's good to have you back, son."  
"Where's Sammy?"  
"He went back to the motel room last night."  
Bobby got up and gathered his bearings.

"I'm gonna grab some caffeine and call your brother." He started toward the door, but stopped when Dean reached out and grabbed his wrist.  
"Stay."  
Bobby could have dropped to his knees right there. After everything he had done in the past three months, hearing Dean ask him to stay was the best thing in the world.

"Ok," he sat back down in his chair. "I'll stay."

--

Sam came back to the hospital around ten o'clock, and was delighted to see that his brother had awakened. As he and Dean talked, Bobby left them to grab the coffee he had intended on a couple of hours earlier. As he made his way toward the cafeteria, and the coffee machine, images from the night of Dean's suicide attempt replayed in his head. He remembered watching the paramedics lift Dean's limp body out of the Impala and onto a stretcher. He remembered the blood, and the dead look in Dean's eyes. Bobby thought for sure they were going to lose him that night, but Sam insisted that Dean was going to make it.

After grabbing coffee for himself, he sat down at a table to relax for a moment. He was having trouble clearing his mind. With Dean awake, it would not be long before he was released from the hospital. Bobby wanted to make sure Dean got the help he needed from him. Dean needed a friend, a father figure, not a babysitter.  
Chugging down the last bit of his coffee, Bobby got up and prepared to head back upstairs. It was time he actually be around for Dean. John's boy wasn't going to be left behind again.


	5. Chapter 5

"Stand Back Up"

"Dean!"  
Cringing at the sound of his name, Dean pushed himself out from under the Impala as Sam came toward him. He had been doing this all day, every day since Dean was released from the hospital, and he was getting irritated with his brother's constantly checking up on him.  
"What is it, Sam? What could you possibly want?"

"If you can get away from the car for a little bit, Bobby and I could use your help, doing some actual case work."

Dean sat up and wiped his hands with a grease rag.  
"This case nearly totaled my car!"

"You drove it down a hill, Dean. You almost hit a tree. Don't stand there and make excuses!"

"_I'm _making excuses? Sam, you've got a different excuse every day when you come out here and bug me. You didn't need me for the last two demons you wasted, and you don't need me for this one, so just leave me the hell alone, and let me fix the car!"

"Dean—"

"Just go, Sam. I'm sure you and Bobby can handle research without me, just this once."  
Dean resumed his work without another word, leaving Sam standing there awkwardly. He wanted to help his brother in the worst way, but Dean wasn't letting anyone in. As long as there was daylight, he buried himself in fixing the Impala, even if there wasn't really anything to fix. He spent all of his nights getting sloppy in bars. Sam would hear him roll in around 6 a.m. or so. He also heard the early morning arguments between his brother and Bobby. The older hunter wanted to help Dean just as much as Sam did, but his brother was a loose cannon. No one would be able to help Dean, unless he was willing to help himself.

Sam found Bobby buried in a very large book when he finally made his way back inside.

"Find anything?" he asked, settling down into his chair at the table where he'd left his research.

"Not yet. The pattern of these killings just doesn't make sense."

"Are you sure it's a demon, Bobby? I mean the way these people died seems more like a vampire attack."  
"I've seen demons do a lot of messed up things, Sam. Who says they can't mimic other creatures?"

"You've got a point. We let a lot of things out when the devil's gate opened, things we've only seen in our nightmares."

Bobby rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and closed his book.  
"Any luck with Dean?"  
"No. He's been out there every day since we opened the devil's gate. I go out there every day to talk to him, and every day he tells me to go away. I don't know what to do anymore."

Bobby pulled back the curtains on the front door and peered out at the salvage yard. He spotted Dean, working on the Impala like nothing was wrong. He wished to God they could get through to Dean after all they had been through with him.

"These things take time. He's been through a lot these past couple of months. You can't just flip a switch and make him better."

"I wish there was a switch, Bobby. I want my brother back."

Bobby pulled the door open.  
"I'll be right back. Keep digging up anything you can on that demon."  
Bobby strained his eyes against the sunlight as he stepped out onto the porch. Dean was standing at Bobby's workbench, looking for a tool. As he made his way across the yard, he could tell Dean was trying really hard not to look at him.

"Fix those brakes yet?" he asked casually as Dean picked out a smaller socket for his ratchet.

"Yeah," Dean turned back toward the car. "Only thing is a tie rod is busted clean in half. I have to find a new one."

"I might have something around here that may fit your car. Feel free to look."

"Thanks, Bobby." Dean slid himself back under the car.  
"Hey, when you get done, can you come help us inside? Sam and I have been trying to figure out what the hell kind of demon can mimic vampire attacks. My eyes are swimming, and Sam is pretty much at a standstill. We could use some fresh eye."

"Thanks but no thanks," said Dean from under the car.  
"Look, smart ass, you need to put your focus on the job, not on this car, or some girl in a bar. Sam and I need you right now. We can't do this without you."

Dean slid out from under the car and sat up.  
"Sam and I went out looking for the thing, and now my car's all screwed to hell! I'm all for killing the bastard, but we can't do anything without the car, so unless there's another idea—"  
Bobby grabbed Dean by the shirt. "If, and when, we get a lead on the thing, we'll take _my _car. Now get your ass in that house and help with research. The sooner we find answers, the sooner we can send this thing back to hell." He let Dean go, and started toward the house. Dean stood there for a second, realizing that he couldn't use the Impala as an excuse anymore. Defeated, he turned and followed Bobby into the house.

"I don't get it!" Dean said, slamming his book closed in frustration. They had been searching for hours, only to come up with nothing. "How can this demon be nowhere? We don't have any viable leads on the damn thing. It's like it freaking vanished!"

Bobby sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dean was right. How could they have nothing?  
"Anything off the Internet, Sam?"

"I've got nothing. It could be that we're the first people to come across this demon. That would explain why there's no information anywhere."

"Great!" Dean got up and started pacing. "So what are we supposed to do now? Sit here with our junk in our hands until this thing shows up?"

"No, we need to track it like your father tracked the Yellow-Eyed Demon. I want to know its every move."

Sam reached for his phone, intending to call Ash for help, but slowly set it down when he remembered that Ash was killed months ago, when demons attacked the Road House and burned it to the ground.

"I'll see what I can do, but I'm nowhere near as organized as Ash was at doing all of this," Sam said, opening his computer again and typing vigorously.

"You do that Sam." Dean started for the door. "I'm going out for a while." As he opened the door, Bobby put his hand on it and slammed it shut.  
"How do you plan to drive anywhere without your car, Dean? Did you think you were going to take one of my junk cars without asking?"

"I've got two feet. I know how to use them." He tried to shove his way out the door again, but Bobby blocked his path. "Stop treating me like I'm ten years old, and let me leave!" Dean pushed him aside and stormed out the front door. Bobby almost went after him, but stopped himself. Dean needed to learn to respect himself again before he could have any respect for the job, and that was something Bobby could not teach him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Stand Back Up"

_I'm going to go a little "Karate Kid" with this chapter, but not as cheesy. I hope you like it! Dean's rehab is almost complete!_

Bobby lived about 15 miles from town. Dean wished he had realized this fact before he walked about five miles. He had forgotten how much land there actually was between his friend's property and the neighboring homes. It was getting dark, and he was tired, hungry, and on top of all that, it had started to pour buckets. He could feel his body weakening as he took each step. As he reached an intersection, he could walk no more, and Dean collapsed on the dirt road, exhausted.

The feeling of fire on his face awoke Dean with a start. The chirping of birds outside told him it was morning. He found himself in a quaint cabin, lying on a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire. His clothes lay on the floor next to him, no doubt drying from the drenching rain. Suddenly he heard someone stirring in the next room, and quickly reached for his pants. As he put them on, a middle-aged man came out of the bedroom, running his hand through his scruffy beard.

"Good morning," he said cheerily.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Dean questioned. The man turned to his kitchen counter and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Dean, who took it thankfully.

"My name is Jacob. You were sleeping at the end of my driveway last night. I thought you'd be more comfortable in here."  
"Thanks," Dean said immediately, not wanting to sound rude. "I'm Dean."  
"Well, Dean, are you hungry?"

"Yeah, actually. I don't want to impose…"

"It's no trouble. Sit, please."

Jacob fixed them scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. Dean thanked him and ate heartily.

"So Dean, what brings you to my driveway?" Jacob asked as the two of them ate.  
"I was trying to get to town. I guess walking there wasn't such a good idea, was it?"

"Not really. What possessed you to walk 15 miles into town?"  
Dean shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He wasn't about to tell a stranger his problems. Who was he to ask him about _his _problems?

"Don't worry about it."

Jacob set his coffee down.

"Son, I found you unconscious on _my _driveway, and I brought you into _my _home. I don't tolerate disrespect, and I don't appreciate your ungrateful attitude. You're lucky I didn't leave your ass out in the rain!"

Dean nodded understandingly. "Point taken."

When they finished eating, Dean volunteered to do the dishes. When he finished wiping the last plate, Jacob came back into the living area holding a couple of rifles.  
"Know how to shoot?"  
Dean smiled as he folded the dishtowel and set it on the counter.  
"That's an understatement."

"I'm going skeet shooting. Want to join me?"

"Sure, why not?"

Dean followed his new friend around the back of the cabin. Jacob had a launch set up half an acre from his house, in an open field. To the right of the launcher, about 400 feet ahead, was a target. Dean wondered if his new acquaintance shot skeet for fun, or if there was some other reason he had this practice range set up in his backyard.

"So Jacob, what do you do for a living?"

"You're wondering why I have all of this stuff set up on my property, right?"  
Dean smiled.  
"Yeah, sorry."  
"It's fine. I'm a shooting instructor. I have ten students a week that come up here for lessons. For the others, I ride into town and back. It's not great money, but I live just fine."

"I hear that."

Jacob tossed Dean a gun, and he caught it expertly. He set up the launcher to shoot every twenty seconds, so they could take turns.

"What do you do, Dean? I mean besides walking twenty miles into town?" The launcher fired, and Jacob expertly shot his target.

"It's complicated. I'd rather not say." The next one came out, and Dean aimed and fired. He was dismayed when the clay disc kept flying, untouched.

"I thought you said you could shoot." Jacob chuckled.  
"I never miss," Dean said, looking down at the rifle in his hands.

"Try again."

The launcher fired, and Dean shot at the disc three times, missing every time.

"You a little tense, boy?"

"No, no I'm fine."

Jacob crossed his arms.  
"Kid, I've been shooting a gun since I was nine years old. You can't lie to me. I can tell in your shooting that something's bothering you."

Dean lowered his rifle in defeat. Jacob was right.

"Everything's been so jacked up with me lately…with my Dad being gone, and all the stuff with my brother. I can't handle it anymore."

Jacob reached out and took the rifle from Dean's hands.  
"How about some target shooting?" he asked. "You can even use your own gun."  
Quickly Dean checked his pockets. He was relieved to find his .45 tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.  
"How the hell did you know I carry a gun?"

"When I brought you inside last night, I found it when I checked you for ID."  
It hit Dean right then that his driver's license said Robert Hagar on it.  
"About my driver's license—"

"Don't worry about it. None of my business."  
"So target shooting?"

Jacob nodded and directed Dean over to the target range.  
"You want to get out some rage, son, this is the way to do it. Pretend that target is someone – or something you really want dead, and you'll shoot a bulls eye every time."

Dean smiled. He slid a fresh clip into his gun and aimed at the target, 200 feet in front of him.

"I've given everything I've ever had to this family!" he shouted suddenly, burning off a few rounds into the target. They were close in proximity, but not very accurate. "What have I ever gotten back? I gave up a normal life for this, and you repay me by laying this information on me about Sam, and then you go and die? What the hell kind of father are you!" Dean burned off ten more rounds into the target, bulls-eyeing them every time. "I don't deserve this!" He shot the rest of the clip into the target, and when he was done, he shakily dropped his gun into the grass and turned to Jacob. "I don't deserve this."

"It sounds like your brother needs you, and your father knew that. Maybe your Dad told you whatever he did because he wanted you to protect your brother."

"I've been protecting my brother since I was 11 years old! I've always watched out for that kid. It's not any different than it was then!"

"Then what's your problem? If it isn't any different, why are you here, shooting holes in my target with a .45, yelling at me? Go back to your family and make things right."

Jacob was right. It was time to go back to Bobby's house and make things right. He had to protect Sam as long as he could, before his bill came due. If he was going to hell in a year, he was going to protect Sammy for as long as he could, and prepare him for a world without his older brother.

"Thank you, for everything. I think it's time for me to go back home."  
"Anytime, kid. How about I give you a ride? Beats walkin' five miles."  
"Sure," Dean said, smiling for the first time in a while. He picked up his gun, and followed Jacob toward his pickup truck.


	7. Chapter 7

So this is the last chapter for this story. I'm going to be backing off on the chapter stories for a while and concentrating on drabbles for the time being, now that this project is finished. Please keep checking back, as I plan to finish off "Dreams We Make Reality" shortly. Thanks for reading, and reviews are welcome!

Dean stared at the house as Jacob drove away. Bobby's car was parked in front of the house, and his Impala was still in pieces where he had left it. He was tempted to go and work on it, to avoid what he knew he had to do, but it had to be done.

He walked slowly across the junkyard and ascended the porch steps. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the front door.

Bobby looked surprised when he opened the door to find Dean standing there, actually sober.

"Hey Bobby."  
"Come on in, Dean." Dean walked past his friend into the living room. "Son, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Bobby went to open his mouth, but Dean stopped him. "Really, I'm okay now. I'm good."

"Whaddya mean, good? Like, 'leave me alone while I work on the Impala' good, or 'thanks for everything, Sam and I are leaving' good?"

"Both, sort of. Everything's been so jacked up since Dad. And then that whole thing with Sam and the Demon just fucked everything up worse. I'm afraid Yellow-Eyes might be right about Sam, and it scares the hell out of me, Bobby."

Bobby pulled up a chair and sat across from Dean at the table.

"Listen, son, Sam is gonna be okay. Nothing is going to happen to him, as long as you and I are here to protect him."

"That's my point, Bobby! I'm checking out in a year. Where does that leave Sam? He's going to have to fight this war without me. I'm not going to be here to protect him. He's gonna die, Bobby."

The front door suddenly opened, and Sam stood in the doorway. By the look on his face, Dean could tell he had heard their entire conversation.

"Sam—"

"You really think I'm gonna get myself killed after you leave, Dean? Do you think I'm that stupid?"

"No, Sam. I know you're not stupid. But the things we let out of the gate are smarter and nastier than anything we've dealt with before. One man can't do it all by himself."

Sam closed the door and came into the room.

"I'm not gonna be alone! Bobby will be here, and Ellen, and probably Jo, if I ever find her again. There are tons of hunters fighting this war. We're not alone in this, Dean, no matter how alone you feel."

Dean got to his feet. He was done with this conversation. His brother and Bobby were right. They had been trying to tell him that from the beginning, and he was too stubborn to listen to them. Trying to shoot himself was never the answer, and he realized what he had to do before he checked out and left Sam alone in this crap hole of a world.  
"Look, I've been an ass, and I'm sorry. That's it. Whaddya say we fix the car, and kill some demons?" Grinning, Dean started for the door. Bobby and Sam exchanged glances. The old Dean was back again, and they knew he was really going to be all right.

_Finite_


End file.
